Solitary
by alstair
Summary: It has been 3 years since Ichigo disappeared after the war and was presumed dead. Now, 3 years later, the truth is laid bare. And so are secrets that should never have been brought to light. Ishida needs to come to grips with emotions he'd hoped forgot.
1. Prologue

**S O L I T A R Y**

K. Ichigo x I. Uryuu

_Summary: It has been 3 years since Ichigo disappeared after the war and was presumed dead. Now, 3 years later, the truth is laid bare. And so are secrets that should never have been brought to light. Ishida needs to come to grips with emotions he'd hoped forgot.

* * *

_

**P R O L O G U E**

_ACT ONE_

* * *

The light cast by the lamp put the rest of the room into high relief. It chased the shadows into the far corners, created its own. A brown moth, attracted to the brightness, beat uselessly against the hot bulb. It would soon die.

Just as he knew he too would inevitably die.

He sat before a well-worn desk, head rested against the hard wooden back of his chair. With two of his long pale fingers he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. A pair of glasses were laid neatly across the fold of an opened book. Milton's _Paradise Lost_.

Outside, a sliver of lightning in the distance split open the darkened skies. It was the same sky of three years ago. The crash of thunder had been as loud then as now, booming in his very bones.

His time had stopped then. It hadn't restarted since.

A drawer contained newspaper clippings, a few pictures, and several notebooks filled with his neat print. Heavily annotated maps and dog-eared letters addressed _To Ishida_ were slipped in between pages. The last date recorded was June 15 of a year ago. Then nothing. No clippings. No pictures. No maps. For two years he'd spent each night combing the streets, turning at every shadow. He had looked at every passing face hoping against hope it was the one he'd been searching for. But it had been to no avail. After two years he'd given up. It was time to move on.

Except he hadn't really.

* * *

_ACT TWO_

* * *

The blinding rain obscured much of the scene, blurring objects into indistinguishable masses, drenching anything left exposed in sharp coldness. Nothing stirred in the various alleys and side streets. The men and women who often plied their trades along these dingy and dark corners were nowhere to be found. Instead they hunkered behind closed doors and sheltered recesses, anywhere where they could seek refuge from the downpour.

Except for one man.

He wore a black coat with its lapels turned upward to meet the ends of his rather loud orange hair, the tips of which had curled from the water running off it. The rain had soaked his clothes through and through, so much so that they clung to his body like a second skin.

The rat-tat-tat of raindrops hitting the tin roofs and the gurgle of rainwater rushing down drainpipes drowned the sounds of his footsteps as he made his way to what appeared to be a small secluded bar hidden amongst several dens of less savory character. Despite the torrential rains he appeared to be in no great hurry.

He had no reason to be.

The joint was in the basement of a dilapidated building. At some point in its rather varied history it had been semi-respectable. Now the strong stench of tobacco clung to its walls like a leech and its wooden counter had long lost its shine and had become chipped in several places. A fan whirred noisily overhead beside a rather dim bulb. There were never that many patrons but today, because of the rain, there were even less.

No one bothered with the trail of water he made as he walked in.

The bartender was a stout goat of a man with a beer belly and crooked teeth. He watched the boy take a seat on the leftmost bar stool. Every first Friday of the month for the past three years he would walk through the doors without fail. The same coat. The same chair. The same order. But he was different from the riffraff that ambled in and out of the establishment. There were no furtive glances, none of the guilty looks of someone who drank money they could ill afford to waste if only to experience a fleeting escape from a squalid existence.

He had the look of a man who had seen too much, heard too much and from which there was no escape. He always left as sober as he had come, no matter how much he'd drank.

Tonight was no exception.


	2. Legacies

**L E G A C I E S**

_ACT ONE

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_

The file was sealed amongst the many documents and manuscripts in the central chambers in Seiretei under the unassuming title of _100235_. On its first page was printed the subtitle _Medical Record _and on its margin a steady hand had scribbled the notation _K.__I_._viz_. It was placed beside equally unassuming documents titled _102895_ and _103978_. It was approximately one and a half inches thick and had begun to accumulate a thin sheen of dust since it was first consigned to its current resting place. That had been three years ago, almost as soon as it had been made. Only three people had ever seen its contents. All three were sworn to absolute secrecy. It was never listed in the library's index.

That the said file was currently in the hands of another man was clearly unintended. Captain Ukitake certainly hadn't thought he'd stumble on something of that sort when he was mandated to "clean up" the archives of all documents even remotely accessed by the late Aizen Souske. Neither had he been prepared for what he had discovered written inside.

_"On the matter of the substitute shinigami, Kurosaki Ichigo, it has thus been ascertained that the level of spiritron particulate entropy in his system has exceeded sustainable levels which, without immediate intervention would have resulted in spiritual disintegration. _

_Standard intervention methodologies however have had minimal effect. The advanced level of integration of his hollow with his basic shinigami spiritual signature, far beyond what would normally be considered safe, renders anything but the most complex structured limiters useless and even then puts enormous pressure on it to the point of drastically reducing both its containment abilities and its useful life._

_We have utilized a heavily modified version of the Tier 7 limiter with an additional twelve ancillaries as a temporary solution until an alternative can be devised..."_

There was no further mention of any alternative. It was likely that one had been made but not before the document had been written and filed away. It was also conceivable that an alternative had been found but the author had chosen not to leave any indication of its nature. Whatever was the case it was certain that what Ukitake held in his hands was the key to the sudden disappearance of Kurosaki Ichigo three years ago, a month after the war against Aizen and his Espada was concluded.

* * *

_ACT TWO

* * *

_

The memorial was erected in the eastern section of Seiretei. Unlike the surrounding buildings, it was made of black granite polished to a smooth finish. Painstakingly etched on every face of the obelisk were the names of the shinigami who had perished in the Winter War. But there was hardly any need to remind anyone of the enormity of the losses both sides, human and shinigami, had suffered. Though three years had passed Soul Society was still coming to grips with the aftermath of their victory.

Few could ignore the gaps made by the dead.

Too few footsteps graced the hallways of the various divisions. The empty spaces in the mess halls where the fallen had once regaled their friends with laughter and stories loomed wide and large, one that could not be filled. A dearth of new entrants to the academy worried the captains. Too few patrols meant too many vulnerabilities to attack, any attack.

In this monument to the hollowness of their triumph his name was etched a third of the way towards the bottom. _Kurosaki Ichigo_. Directly above it was _Kuchiki Rukia_. It was fitting. She was the woman who first brought him into their world. And she was the world he had been fighting to protect.

Some initially argued however that it was not right he should be included in the monument at all. He, unlike the rest, hadn't died in battle. One night, a month after the end, he had simply vanished from the room he had been assigned to in the fourth division. The three years that had passed had shed no light on his whereabouts. As time wore on such voices grew fewer, fainter, and farther in between. Many simply presumed he was dead. The alternatives, which they chose not to dwell on, were far worse and reminiscent of betrayal.

Ukitake had been one of those who had never truly believed Ichigo's presumed death. But he had acknowledged that without any closure they could never really attempt to pick up the pieces and move forward.

Standing before the memorial, he reread the inscription they had carved at its base. _Gone but not forgotten._ He could feel the weight of the file he'd taken from the central chamber archives where he'd hidden it amongst the folds of his robes. The weight of the truth. Or as much of the truth as a piece in a jigsaw puzzle is to the entirety of a picture.

But now that reformation and healing had slowly but surely begun in Soul Society was it proper, was it _right_, to reopen old wounds?

_What would you have done Shunsui?_ Ukitake silently asked of the man who had once been his partner.

Reverently, he traced the grooves that marked that man's place on the memorial. It was not far from Ichigo's. The depth of the lines of the last character. The way wind and water had deepened the notches. He knew them all with an intimacy he hadn't experienced since Captain Kyouraku Shunsui joined the list of casualties of a war they should have prevented.

* * *

_ACT THREE

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_

Ishida did not know why Captain Ukitake had asked to borrow his notes and research of the past three years. Nor did he learn how the man had even known that he had such a compendium. He certainly hadn't let it known that he had been searching for Kurosaki Ichigo. But then he did not want to know. _The past is past._ He willingly gave what he had. There was no reason to hold on to them. They only served as a reminder of unhealed wounds and old scars.


	3. Notations

**N O T A T I O N S

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**

_ACT ONE

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_

The two notebooks sat side by side on top of the unvarnished wooden table. One was bound in black leather, innocuous, the pages thick parchment. The other was blue with a small cross emblazoned on its lower left, edges well-thumbed, pages ruled. It was one of five similar diaries stacked neatly on top of a nearby dresser. On most days Ukitake did not need a written reminder of the days when grief and shock had been an almost palpable presence. He could still vividly recall the smell of healing salve and herbal tinctures and beneath it the thick coppery stench of blood as it clung to the hallways like a leech. He could almost touch the charred and burnt edges of fallen structures, feel concrete crumble at the slightest pressure. He could almost hear the incessant sound of feet bearing the wounded and the dying, hoarse voices calling for medical aid or simply the mercy of death to relieve their pain.

Today was not one of those days.

_"The reports indicate that they found him in the midst of large boulders and broken earth, all that remained of Soukyoku Hill. There was only the two of them, Hanataro and Innoue."_

_"Monday. It has been three days since Kurosaki was brought into the fourth division. They assigned him to the last room in the west wing, the rest of which has been closed off. The shinigami appointed to guard the entrance will not respond to my questions. I can sense at least two different barriers erected to enclose the space."_

_"Innoue still won't talk. She merely trembles and rocks in her chair, her mouth a thin tight line. Her only words, repeated over and over again amidst her tears are 'I'm sorry.'"_

_"Tuesday. I couldn't find Hanataro until today. Apparently he had been 'detained' by his captain for assistance elsewhere. But my inquires have led me to believe that he has been in the west wing the entire time. The same for Captain Unohana. He is more composed than Innoue but likewise refuses to talk. His words were 'Forget him, Ishida-san.'"_

_"Wednesday. A spiritual pressure rocked the building at nine-fifteen today. I do not recognize the owner but I cannot shake the sense that it is vaguely familiar. It lasted for a full minute. It took us until the afternoon to console Innoue who was heavily affected by the incident. She had her hands pressed against her ears and her eyes were screwed shut. It was decided that she should be returned to the human world as soon as possible. Sado will accompany her. I will remain here to monitor the situation."_

_"Friday. Her last words to me before being escorted out were 'Please save Ichigo. Please save him.'"_

Ukitake had been among those who had voted to send Innoue back. He had not been able to bear seeing her as she had been then, pale-faced, jumping at the slightest sound, wide eyes staring disconsolately in the general direction of where Ichigo had been sent. He had, however, not been among those who voted to have her memory erased. That it had accomplished its desired effect was evident in the smiling photos he received every now and then. But was it right to have a portion of her past, of her _self_, of her _truth_, erased if only so that she could continue to live a life now fundamentally altered?

Ukitake still did not have an answer. Nonetheless, he was certain that whatever knowledge she had of those now crucial first moments were forever lost.

* * *

_ACT TWO

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_

Page 134

_...I saw Unohana for the first time in several days, having myself been an invalid and in the care of one of her subordinates though my injuries were slight in comparison to the many others who had sustained far worse. I knew she was handling the more critical patients but it was only today that my suspicion was confirmed: chief among her wards is Kurosaki Ichigo. I do not know what that boy sustained in the battlefield or what horrors Aizen and his zanpakuto must have unleashed before him. But for a woman as gifted with healing kido as Unohana to be attending him and for him to be under such intensive care for so long must indeed mean it is grave. Today Captain Commander Yamamoto visited the fourth division, the fifth such visit this past two weeks. It is well that he does so. The morale of our men, initially buoyed up by our victory, is now crumbling as the reality of our losses sink in. Unohana spoke longest to him and, though I did not know what they spoke of, it seemed as though the news being imparted was not good._

_I still miss you Shunsui. I know you would say to move on. Perhaps time will ease your passing but for now I cannot help it._

Page 137

_Of the original thirteen captains too few of us are left. I do not know if we have enough talented young men and women currently capable of filling this dearth of leadership nor do I know if we can continue to function with only the vice-captains supporting these divisions. Once Kurosaki Ichigo is well enough I think we might offer him a spot. Heaven knows the kid has proven himself ten times over._

_On that note, it was only today that the news regarding Kurosaki Ichigo's condition was formally made known to us. It appears as though he is suffering under the side-effects of several injuries inflicted by arrancars in the course of the battle. Although the physical wounds have long been healed it appears that certain poisons had insinuated themselves into his bloodstream and are causing havoc internally. Mayuri offered his services but I, and Unohana I believe, know well his motives. _


End file.
